He Remembered
by transmuting
Summary: Tony reflects on the things he remembers about Ziva after he's lost her. Not... fluffy... :  At all.


He couldn't feel. That was what he'd been aiming for, hadn't it? Feeling hurt too much. Feeling was driving him crazy. It was much better to be numb and lost, floating in a fog of intoxication than to be sober and forced to deal with the harsh and cold reality of life around him. He didn't want to hurt anymore. He didn't want to feel happy, either. It wasn't just because he now viewed joy as a fleeting emotion that would only make the inevitable pain that much worse when you finally had to experience it. No. It was more... He didn't deserve it. Not anymore.

He could remember her smile. He remembered the way she often didn't give a full blown grin, but rather let the corners of her mouth turn upwards, slowly letting the smile grow, but hardly ever showing even a bit of teeth. When she did smile fully, it lit up her whole face, though. Her eyes would sparkle and she'd have this look about her that made the rest of the world fade away. Her smile was beautiful. Perfect. Exactly the way a smile should be.

He remembered her laugh, too. It was always a challenge to get her to give one, but when he did, it was the greatest reward. She had a quiet laugh, one that was probably more like a chuckle. He remembered once when he got her to give a loud, boisterous noise that echoed throughout his apartment, one that made her cover her mouth in embarrassment after it had escaped her. He'd never felt more accomplished than in that moment.

He remembered the way she smelled. Hugging the pillow to his chest, he could still almost make the scent out. It was faint, disappearing after weeks of not having her sleeping beside him. During the summers, it was the light scent of shay butter still. Just like it had been years ago. It was mid-winter now, though, and she'd be more likely to smell like cinnamon or sugar cookies. The Christmas like scents they sold in the mall that she'd pick up big bottles of because she knew they made him bury his face in her hair and smell her for long stretches of time. He'd hold her in his arm for hours, muttering about how she smelled better than a bakery. His hands would eventually start to wander, his lips would find skin, and it would melt into a well spent day of making love.

He remembered the way she felt under his touch. The way her body moved. He remembered the way her mouth tasted and the way her entire being seemed to get into sex. He remembered how good her body felt wrapped around him, how complete his entire self was whenever he got to be so close to her. It made the world disappear. In those moments, it was only the two of them, joined together as one person. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt that with anyone else. Not to such an extent. Not in such an overwhelming manner that he felt like his heart was going to burst.

He remembered the scared look in her eyes. She had been in dangerous situations before, but as she'd laid there in his arms, as he cried over her, begging her to stay with him until the ambulance got there, she had looked honestly terrified. She'd tried to hide it in that way that only Ziva could. She'd tried to keep herself cut off and distant, but he could tell. He could always tell with her. She had gotten so tired and he begged her to stay awake. He remembered the way her lashes had started to flutter as she found it harder and harder to stay awake. He remembered the feeling of blood staining through his clothes. He remembered the feeling of his heart shattering into a million pieces.

He remembered when he had stopped feeling all together.

Holding the pillow closer, Tony felt himself begin to rock back and forth, trying to hold onto that numbness, trying to make the pain go away again. Feeling nothing had been made out to be such a terrible thing by so many people, but it was far preferred to this. To this unbearable heartache, to this feeling of emptiness. To the way his throat closed up on itself and the way his chest heaved with sobs that he couldn't get out.

Rolling over, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey at the foot of the bed, pulling out the stopper and trying to force himself to down a large gulp. He just needed to go back to feeling nothing. Nothing would be good again.


End file.
